Cupcakes At Carrington's Part 19

And it really does put things in perspective. Worrying about being on my own for Valentine's Day and not having a date to take to the wedding just seems so trivial now. When people are dying, what does it really matter if I don't have a man in tow? I've decided to flout Tina's 'no singletons' rule and go to the wedding on my own. What's the worst she can do? She probably won't even notice me anyway and it's better than having to put up with Maxine all day long.

Of course, Sam and Nathan's trip to Italy has been cancelled for now, and I've managed to take a few days off to look after Sam. We're staying in Alfie's villa on the private beach estate just along the coast from Mulberry-On-Sea. He bought the villa a few years ago to be nearer to Sam when he wasn't travelling. His apartment overlooking Regent's Park in London, and rarely used, is being looked after by Yana, Alfie's housekeeper, until Sam can bear to go there and organise things.

We've spent the last few days just sitting, with Sam crying and me fielding telephone calls, taking delivery of flowers and condolence cards, but listening mainly. One minute she's sobbing in my arms, the next she's screaming, consumed with anger and mentally searching for something or someone to blame.

'I'll make some more tea,' I say, not really knowing what else to do. Nathan nods and Sam looks up from the cashmere jumper she has entwined in her fingers. It belonged to Alfie, and the faint smell of his Aramis aftershave still lingers.

'Do you think we should call the doctor?' Nathan says, following me into the kitchen. 'I can't bear seeing her like this she's not even eating and I have no idea when she last had a shower.' His shoulders sag and I reach a hand out to rub his arm before flicking the kettle on.

'She's grieving; there isn't anything the doctor can do to take away the pain,' I say quietly. 'It won't ever go away, but she'll learn to live with it.' I chew the inside of my mouth in an attempt to stem my own feelings of grief. I'm trying really hard not to think of Mum and how I felt when she first died the loneliness, the fear. I need to be strong for Sam. And I'm also trying not to let her see my sorrow at losing Alfie. I know he wasn't my dad, but that never stopped me from wis.h.i.+ng he was.

'Oh G.o.d, I hope so. For her sake, and mine.' He looks away. 'Does that make me a bad person?'

'Of course not.'

'I just want her back. The bubbly, generous, kind, outspoken Sam that I fell for. I'm scared Georgie. Really scared,' he says, pus.h.i.+ng a hand through his dishevelled hair.

'I know. Me too,' I say, gently.

'But you seem so calm. And you've been such an amazing support for her, whereas me ... well, I crumble when I see her in this amount of pain. I just wish I could do something to make it better.'

'Being here is exactly what she needs right now,' I say, pouring milk into the mugs. 'She'll come back to us. She may change a little, but she'll definitely be back. I promise.' I smile and pick up the mugs.

'Thanks Georgie. I ...' He pauses. '... We both couldn't get through this without you.'

'She's my friend. You too. It's what we do.'

After handing Sam her tea, and giving her shoulder a little squeeze, I sit down opposite her. She's staring at the cashmere jumper.

'Sam, can I do anything? Do you want to talk?'

'No. Just sit with me,' she says, not even looking up.

I take a sip of my tea and think about work, wondering if it's still all worth it. There must be more to life than sc.r.a.pping over sales in a desperate bid to keep my job and stay one step ahead of the game. And it's only going to get worse if I manage to stay on and end up slaving for Maxine. I wish I didn't have the flat, the car and my debt problem to support. Then I could just sod off on one of those volunteer charity working breaks that I've read about in magazines. The girls come back looking all refreshed and wholesome, not haggard before their time like I am.

I've not slept at all for the last few nights, tossing and turning, thinking about Alfie, worrying about Sam and everything else that's going on at work. I just wish the game could be over, but I suppose it never will be, not really. Even if I get to stay at Carrington's and spend the next forty years working my a.r.s.e off, I'll never be free. There'll always be a Maxine, a revamp, or someone like Tina I have to watch my back with just to stay one step ahead.

I've reached the point now where I just want to know what's happening, what has Maxine got planned? Am I going to get to sell Prada and Hermes bags or be unemployed? The wait is excruciating. We've been told we'll know one day next week, which might as well be an eternity away. And when I was last at work, Tom was avoiding me, not even bothering to hold the lift like the rest of us do when we see somebody running to catch it. Maybe Maxine has already told him his job is safe so he figures he doesn't even need to bother trying to distract me any more.

31.

It's 14 February and the big day has finally arrived. I've managed to shove myself into a big puffy gold vintage gown that I hired from a dress agency to keep costs down. It didn't seem too bad in the shop, but now I just look like a giant Ferrero Rocher. The dress code is 'movie star glamour', but I can't afford anything new and I must have put on a few pounds, as everything in my wardrobe is either catching under the arms or the bulge of my stomach is slightly more prominent than it ever was before. But then the stress is like a tonne weight permanently shackled to my body, so it's been goodbye No Carbs Before Marbs and h.e.l.lo to my loyal friend ... Red Velvet.

I spritz another generous shower of perfume onto the insides of my wrists well, it's aftershave really. It's Tom Ford for men, another tester from Scarlett, and it's so delicious and s.e.xy and about as close as I'm getting to having an actual man of my own these days. But at least I'm not going to be home alone for a change, small mercies and all that. And I have a Valentine's card! Found it pushed under my front door this morning in a crimson envelope: Georgie, Thinking of you x.x.x I know it's from Dad, he's been sending me one every year since I was a little girl, and even though he disguises his handwriting and tries to make it sound as if it's from somebody else, I still know it's from him.

I slip my feet into the Gina sandals before glancing in the hall mirror. The face looking back at me looks different somehow and I don't think it's just the make-up, which is more glamorous than my usual style. No, it's as if it belongs to somebody else, someone I don't recognise any more. My mobile rings and, seeing that it's Sam, I flip it open.

'Hi honey, how are you today?' I ask, tentatively, hoping she'll be able to talk to me. When I called her last night there was only silence punctuated by the odd snuffle and sniff until she managed to utter 'OK' when I said I'd call again in an hour. I had a long chat with Nathan instead and he said she'd been lying on her bed all day listening to Frank Sinatra songs and staring at the ceiling. Alfie was a big fan.

'OK. It's the wedding today, isn't it?' Her voice is flat and lacking in any emotion.

'Yes, that's right. I don't have to go though. I can spend the day with you instead.'

'Yes you do. Ciaran will feel let down if you don't turn up. And I shouldn't have declined his invitation. He works for me but that didn't even matter when Nathan invited me to Italy ... what was I thinking?' she says, sounding like a robot.

'Oh, please don't be hard on yourself. Look, I don't have to go, I'd much sooner be taking care of you.' I pause, letting the thought sit with her for a moment. 'You're my best friend,' I add, softly, unsure of what else to say to her.

'I know. But I'm going to see the funeral people today.' Her voice wobbles on the word 'funeral' and I'm instantly transported back to Mum's one.

'Well then, let me come with you. Please. You don't want to go on your own.' I'm conscious of sounding as if I'm telling her what to do. And then instantly feel guilty that the chance of forgoing the wedding springs into my mind so temptingly.

'No. I'm going on my own. Nathan wanted to come too but I want to do this for Dad. He did everything for me, so it's the least I can do.' Her voice trails off. 'But there is something you can do for me.'

'Anything,' I say, quickly.

'Go to the wedding and, if you get the chance, then please apologise to Ciaran on my behalf. Say I'm sorry I let him down.'

'Oh Sam, I will, but you haven't let anyone down.'

'Yes I have. I let Dad down ... I should have been there with him,' she says, matter-of-factly, and a short silence follows.

'That's not true.'

'Please. Just go to the wedding.'

'OK, if you're sure. But if you change your mind, at any time, then just call me or text, and I'll come.'

'I will.' There's a pause. 'And thank you,' she adds, her voice sounding a little softer now. 'Georgie, you will come to the funeral with me, won't you?'

'Yes. Yes of course, I'll be right there next to you, for the funeral and for always.' I say goodbye and take another peek in the hall mirror before leaving.

At the entrance to the manor house, a throng of guests are milling around. There's a long, ruby-red carpet weaving all the way up and along the gravel driveway to create the Oscar-themed wedding that Tina chose. Faux paparazzi are busy flas.h.i.+ng their cameras at the arriving guests.

'Over here, smile. Yes, wooork iiit,' a pap bellows at me the minute I step out of the cab. I manage a weak smile as I remember to lift the ankle-length dress up just enough to make sure that I don't catch the toe of my sandal in it. I couldn't bear to fall flat on my face in front of all the people who are milling around up ahead of me. I feel self-conscious with them all gazing in my direction. Everywhere I look there are beautiful people I don't recognise. Couples. The women in sparkly c.o.c.ktail dresses and the men in black tuxedos.

'Ignore them. They're just for show, they're not real guests. From some wannabe agency or other. "Permanently resting" actors, most likely.' Eddie appears at my side, his razor tongue sharpened to perfection as usual.

'Thank G.o.d you're here,' I say, relieved to see a familiar face. He looks me up and down and then lets out a whistle of approval.

'Baby doll, you look fierce,' he says, clicking his fingers in a Z shape around me. I laugh and hook my arm through his and we make our way up the red carpet and into the foyer that's crammed with a trillion rose-pink heart-shaped metallic balloons. Just inside the huge gla.s.s doors is a huddle of pretend fans, and they're all waving autograph books and screaming to get our attention. Eddie grabs one of the books, and milking the moment to the max he scrawls his signature before tossing the book back into the crowd. I cringe inside and bat a balloon away from my face, half wis.h.i.+ng that I was home alone scoffing a chocolate bar, after all.

'This is so embarra.s.sing ... and how come she's managed to pull this off in under a couple of months? Weddings on this scale usually take a good year to organise,' I whisper in Eddie's ear.

'Yep, they totes do, but madam gets what madam wants, doesn't she? Probably had the venue on a retainer from the very first moment she clapped eyes on Ciaran. You know how showy she is, anyway. I think Ciaran's wealthy parents footed the bill and I guess you can have whatever you want whenever you want ... if you chuck enough money at it. Wouldn't surprise me if One Direction show up and sing a special a cappella Valentine song especially for her,' Eddie snorts.

'Really?' I say, perking up at the prospect of getting close to Harry.

'Weell ... that might be stretching the budget just a little bit, but who knows?' Eddie shrugs his shoulders. 'Ciaran didn't get much of a say, so I guess anything is possible.'

'Oh I see,' I reply, thinking how sad, and wondering whether it's too late to locate Ciaran and shake some sense into him.

'Anyway, let the show begin,' he says flamboyantly as he grabs a flute of pink champagne from one of the nearby waiters and makes off towards the gla.s.s-domed atrium. Catching my breath, I push my silver clutch bag under my arm and take two gla.s.ses of the pink champagne. I know I'm not going to enjoy today so I need all the sustenance I can garner. I take a big gulp of the bubbly liquid and immediately wince as the glands under my ears smart from the shock of the bittersweet liquid. I glance around, noting that there don't appear to be any other real guests here yet. I finish the flute, so, clutching the other one, I make my way through to the atrium.

The scent from the long-stemmed pink lilies. .h.i.ts my nostrils. There must be at least twenty head-height marble pillars dotted around the perimeter, each displaying a gigantic floral arrangement. To my left there's an enormous easel detailing the seating plan. I head towards it, eager to see who Tina has sat me next to. As I scan, looking for my name, I feel a hand on my back.

'Hi there. You're on the same table as me.' I spin around and James is standing right in front of me. He looks gorgeous in his creamy white tuxedo with matching bow tie. 'You look amazing,' he says, looking me up and down, and then leaning towards me he plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I catch a whiff of his spicy aftershave and wish again that things could have been different.

'And you don't look too bad yourself,' I reply, smiling warmly. There's an awkward silence and I start bobbing from one foot to the other. I quickly stop when James's gaze wanders down towards my feet.

'Nice sandals,' he says, grinning at me.

'Thanks.' I feel like a teenager on her first Valentine's date. He's being very complimentary; I feel a bit awkward.

'Georgie, I was wondering whether, now that we've cleared the air between us ...' He looks into my eyes and then pauses momentarily. I wait for him to carry on, curious to hear what he's about to say. But before he can finish the sentence, Maxine appears unexpectedly from behind one of the flower arrangements, startling me in the process. I grasp the flute as it topples in my hand, just managing to save it from cras.h.i.+ng to the floor.

'Not interrupting anything priiivate, am I?' she says in an extra breathy voice, lingering on the word 'private', as if it's a rampant rabbit s.e.x toy, and all for her. She slings her crimson chiffon wrap, which has slipped from her shoulder, back into place. Impulsively I spring apart from James, blus.h.i.+ng at her innuendo.

'Georgie, I want to talk to you,' she continues. She does her pageant smile and my heart sinks. I quickly shake the spilt champagne from the back of my hand before nodding back at her. 'Away from here.' She shakes her big hair back and attempts to c.o.c.k a newly Botoxed eyebrow at me.

She knows!

She knows what happened between Tom and me. And on top of the other secrets she has on me she must have decided it's tipped the scales. She's going to sack me. I just know it. It's one thing being let go as part of a recession-busting revamp, but to be sacked for snogging your boss's lover well, it's unimaginable. And on Valentine's Day too! Talk about irony. But I can't believe she's about to do it here, at a wedding. I brace myself for the showdown that's bound to come any minute now.

'Follow me,' she orders, and I do, deftly batting the wrap from hitting my face as she swings around fast and sashays off, her Agent Provocateur scent wafting behind her like a lethal vapour trail.

'Sit down,' Maxine says, as we enter her room. An enormous bouquet of red roses is perched upside down on top of the trouser press, as if it was thrown from the bed opposite. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, so I pick my way through on tiptoe, only just managing to avoid a shocking tangerine-coloured lacy negligee and pair of purple snakeskin cowboy boots.

I wonder who the saucy cowgirl look was for. Was it Walter who kept her company, or maybe it was Tom or, perhaps, both of them? My mind is racing. Nothing would surprise me any more. A sudden image of Maxine screaming 'giddy up' pops into my mind and instantly I cringe at the thought of her riding bareback astride Walter. I can't even bring myself to imagine the same scenario with Tom taking Walter's place.

Spotting two chairs over by the window, I reluctantly do as she's ordered. But instead of adopting her usual towering-above-me position, she sits in the adjacent chair to mine and crosses her legs. I fidget with my clutch bag, unable to make my mind up whether to place it on the table beside me or keep it in my lap. I decide on the latter, figuring it's better to have something to hold on to.

'Maxine, I'm sorry. I didn't mea-' I start, but she promptly flings up a hand. Her eyes are glinting, as if she's on some weird power trip.

'Don't be,' she says, suddenly changing tack.

'But, I ...' My voice trembles. Her face softens a little, which only makes my anxiety surge even more. I place the champagne gla.s.s down on the floor beside the chair leg and surrept.i.tiously wipe my sweaty palms down the back of my clutch bag. I wish she'd just get on with it.

'You're only a couple of hundred short, but no, my mind is made up.' A couple of hundred. My head is spinning trying to catch up. This must be about the sales figures, and not about my indiscretion with Tom. I allow myself to relax for a moment and let out a small silent sigh of relief as she looks away to slap the wrap into place again. 'd.a.m.n thing. Don't you just hate wearing these ridiculous outfits?' She looks me up and down, before wrenching the wrap from her neck and slinging it across the room.

'Err yes, I suppose so,' I venture, praying I've got it right. Her face has changed now, back to her usual aloof look, and a little s.h.i.+ver trickles down my spine. Maybe I've got it wrong then.

'Do you like working at Carrington's?' I swallow hard, wondering why she's talking about this today, at a wedding. Surely it could have waited until we were at work?

'Yes, yes of course I do,' I blurt, taken aback at the directness of her question at such an inappropriate time. Then she fixes her stare on me and I'm forced to look away.

'Only just recently I haven't been so convinced. You seem distracted. As if you'd rather be somewhere else.' She fixes her eyes on mine. I swallow hard.

'No, I don't think so,' I manage to reply, knowing what she's saying does have a ring of truth to it. I hadn't realised it had been quite so obvious, though. I have been preoccupied with worrying about Sam, losing Alfie, and thinking about the plan with James and Eddie never mind fretting about my debts, the necklace, seeing if I might be able to salvage something of my relations.h.i.+p with Dad and everything else that has gone on. The thought of our plan makes me blush and I remember her chilling words about making it her business to know everything. Please don't let her have found out about it. I don't think I could bear the backlash.

'Hmmm, well, if you're going to be the new floor supervisor then you have to stay focused at all times.'

I snap back to attention.

'The supervisor?' Did I hear her right? My pulse quickens. Maybe I'm off the hook after all.

'Yes, that's right. I've made my recommendations to the board and spoken to HR. It's all been agreed. Your section is the most popular, which is really no surprise I mean, who doesn't love a luxury handbag or three? And you just wait until those Prada and Hermes beauties arrive,' she smiles, a real smile this time, and one that meets her eyes, and then puts her hand out to me.

'Well, I ... err ... don't know what to say.' And I don't. I shake her hand, feeling puzzled at this sudden twist. But then a surge of adrenalin bolts through me. A floor supervisor! Me. I wonder if my salary will increase. This means security. No more worrying and sleepless nights all of it is mine for the taking. But why do I still feel uneasy and a little deflated? I thought this was what I wanted, but now I'm not so sure.

'But, James is the floor supervisor,' I hear myself saying. 'And he made the most sales, surely the job should still be his,' I add, desperate to try and make the decision a fair one, made on merit, and then I immediately feel like a naive idiot for thinking that it was ever about fairness at all.

'Maybe. But no, like I said, us girls need to stick together. Just tread carefully when you break it to them. You know how tetchy men can get.'

'Break it to them?' My stomach turns.

'Of course. You're in charge now so you can tell James and Tom they're no longer required. Redundant. Whatever spin you want to put on it. But it all boils down to the same thing. Just get rid of them.' She flaps a dismissive hand into the air between us.

'But, I ...' I gulp. I can't believe this. Surely HR should deal with this kind of thing? I need to talk to Amy, but then what if Maxine finds out and thinks I'm checking up on her, that I've gone behind her back? This is a nightmare. How am I going to tell James he has to leave when I've stolen his job out from under him? The thought fills me with dread. It's like an icy hand clutching at my insides. And Tom? Oh my G.o.d, what am I going to say to him?

This is bad. Really bad. And I'm not sure I can do what's she asking. It just doesn't make sense why would she make me a supervisor when James clearly won on the sales, which is what it was supposed to be all about? And he has the experience. Then, for a flash of a second, I feel a stab of guilt. So she wasn't playing me after all, and I've even gone and roped in Eddie to st.i.tch her up. But I saw her with Tom, with my very own eyes. I didn't imagine it and she definitely answered the phone on that Sunday morning.

Maybe this is her sick way of getting revenge on James for choosing another woman over her, and she's prepared to sacrifice Tom in the process. G.o.d, maybe she does know what happened with Tom and this is her punishment to him for taking their ruse too far. My head is spinning, lurching from one sickening possibility to the other. I just can't believe it. A sinking feeling cloaks itself around me. If I accept this job then I'll become a puppet, dancing to her tune forever, with the threat of the strings being cut at any moment. I just don't know if I can go that far to ensure my financial security.

'I'll need your formal acceptance by close of play on Tuesday.' She jumps up and, grabbing the wrap from the floor, she turns around, flaps her hand behind her backside to indicate that I'm to follow her, and heads towards the door. Once again I scuttle along behind, my mind working overtime.

32.

After managing to escape from Maxine, I make my way back into the atrium and take another flute from a pa.s.sing waitress.

'Take two,' she says. 'Looks as though you could do with it.' She grins at me.